


aren't you tired, dream?

by dre_amer



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author is a Clay | Dream Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Bottom Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Caring Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream is Bad at Feelings (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream is Tired (Video Blogging RPF), Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, M/M, Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Soft Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade is Bad at Feelings (Video Blogging RPF), Worried Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), ahahahaa fun, author is also self projecting onto dream, but like not too angsty, he's just a tired fuckboy that needs a hug, how to tag for this fic, sorta?, techno gives dream that hug he needs, they fuck btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29372670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dre_amer/pseuds/dre_amer
Summary: So he simply stays back, sips at his bitter black coffee, and watches as Dream’s painfully sharp form glides around creakily, watches as Dream’s thin lips quirk upwards like they’re hooked on marionette strings, watches as Dream flicks away any bits of concern and worry and brushes it all off with an easy, miserable smile and lazy, half-lidded eyes.Dream never tells him, so Techno never knows.DISCLAIMER: I’m not shipping the irl people, just the online personas they’ve put out onto the internet — which is why I’ll never refer to them as their real names in my fics (unless, of course, the plot demands).Don’t like? Then don’t read! Neither of these CCs have specifically mentioned or claimed that they’re uncomfortable with shipping, so I’m just going to chill here with my DNB and serotonin.TW // implied physical abuse by friends , implied nsfw (nothing explicit, though) .
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 549





	aren't you tired, dream?

**Author's Note:**

> i... i don't know anymore, man. i started writing this at 1 am in the morning after binge reading a bunch of mangas an shit so- yeah. here. take it. 
> 
> vv loosely inspired by trap city (written/illustrated by Team JT? at least that’s what it says on the page lmao) 
> 
> btw!! any weird words or phrases that i use are most likely very intentional, so,,, yeah. keep your eyes out for that ;)

Technoblade sometimes wonders if the people around him are blind. 

Are they all unseeing? Can they not perceive, not register what is in front of their eyes? 

Or are they just dull? Can their feeble minds not make the connections that are so glaringly obvious? 

Techno sees, and he knows. 

He sees the tired bruise-like bags under his eyes. He sees the sharp jawline, becoming more and more prominent with every week that slips through Techno’s fingers and pool around his ankles. He sees the once-shining threads of gold dull, becoming limp and lax. He sees the lean form, slowly withering away until Dream is nearly but a skeleton, bits of muscle still clinging on but any trace of fat nowhere to be found. 

Techno sees, but does he know? 

And that is the most frustrating part. However many times Techno probes at the wriggling mass of problems weighing down on Dream’s battered body, the blonde just presses his lips together and bends them into a wry smile, icy jade eyes crinkling tiredly at the edges. Dream tells Techno not to worry, that it is nothing. 

Techno simply scoffs, knowing what the other says is complete bullshit and yet being too afraid to pry more deeply, to dig in further and rip apart Dream’s layers, one by one. 

So he simply stays back, sips at his bitter black coffee, and watches as Dream’s painfully sharp form glides around creakily, watches as Dream’s thin lips quirk upwards like they’re hooked on marionette strings, watches as Dream flicks away any bits of concern and worry and brushes it all off with an easy, miserable smile and lazy, half-lidded eyes.

Dream never tells him, so Techno never knows. 

The first time Techno actually talks with Dream is when the blonde is curled up against the side of the school, blood drying on his chin and eyes just barely closed. Techno peers at him; he isn’t surprised when Dream’s eyes slide open with an unnatural ease. Shouldn’t he be exhausted after being beaten up and beating up some of his fellow students? 

“Hi,” Dream says. He grins up at him, scrubs at the dried scarlet on his face and frowns when it doesn’t rub off. Dream picks at it instead, bitten nails picking at the streams of blood. “What makes you come and see me, dear Technoblade?” 

Techno doesn’t ask how he knows his full name and instead sits down next to Dream, sliding a bookmark into place of his book and closing it, setting the book beside him on his backpack. “Aren’t you tired?” 

Dream’s fluid response, already resting on the tip of his tongue, suddenly slams on the brakes in his mouth and he chokes on it. The words refuse to unstick themselves from the roof of his mouth. 

Is he tired? Is that what the feeling constantly lingering in his chest is? 

The blonde takes a much longer time than usual to concoct a reasonable answer that fits the Dream everyone knows — cocky, uncaring, shifting-around fuckboy. “Why would I be tired?” 

Techno fixes him with those pretty crimson eyes of his. They strike Dream as rather dull. “Why wouldn’t you?” 

Dream almost snorts at Techno’s reply. It’s so very stupid, pretending to know a thing about Dream when the blonde has taken every precaution not to let anyone know too much, get too close. 

So instead of holding it back, Dream nurtures the bitter cackle resting at the back of his throat and then releases it into the air, watching it fade and dissipate and sink into the cracks of their fragile relationship. 

None of them ever lasted. None of them ever stayed. 

“That’s nice,” Dream comments eventually. He stands up, ignores everything around him as usual. “Being all philosophical and so very thoughtful. Brilliant.” 

The sarcasm staining his tone is too clear, and Techno flushes with humiliation. The cracks widen, inch further across the empty expanse as Techno opens his mouth to snap, “You wish you could be thoughtful. You’re always out of it, always up there in your mind and so bloody aloof- get out of your fucking head for once, Dream. No one likes you.” 

“Do they need to?” Dream muses in return, seeming completely unbothered by the insults Techno hurls at his stupid pretty face. 

“Do you even care?” Techno asks incredulously. “Do you even care about your friends, your family? Your social life?” Of course, Techno isn’t one to be lecturing others about their social life and being uncaring and distant — but he just can’t stand Dream’s attitude. 

Dream levels him with an even smile. Techno already knows his answer before it slips past Dream’s bleeding lips. 

“Do I need to?” 

Techno just shakes his head and utters a warning. “They’re going to leave you if you keep up like this, Dream.” He’s seen it happen to others, seen it happen to himself. He’s lucky to have found new ones. “Be careful.” 

Dream flashes him a grin, light and unbothered and relaxed. Techno catches the gleam of his pointed teeth. “Good to know you’re looking out for me,” Dream says, and saunters away. Techno contemplated yelling after Dream about how he isn’t looking out for him, that _asshole,_ but he finds that his lips are sealed together with something like Dream’s phantom fingers. 

Techno sees, but he doesn’t know. Not yet. 

The next time they talk is quite similar to their previous encounter — except Dream is collapsed against the trunk of a tree instead of the school, bloodied and bruised. Techno knows why — the school is probably filled with Dream’s prowling “friends,” ready to pounce at the sight of a single blonde strand of hair. 

Techno approaches him, takes in the tired tilt of lips on his face. “I don’t want to say I told you so, but I told you so.”

Dream’s smile widens. “Yeah. Yeah, you did.” 

Techno sighs and drops down next to Dream, ruffling through his bag for the bandages he’d hidden away just in case he needed them. Being the school’s proclaimed Blood God wasn’t a title you could get away with without any blood being spilled, after all. 

“The fuck happened?” Techno finally asks, pulling the end of the white fabric from the roll. Dream shrugs and winces minutely at the movement. 

“Don’t you know, Technoblade? They beat me up.” Dream’s reply is simple, inflectionless. It’s like he’s restating a fact that’s universally known. 

“Your friends?” Techno holds out his hand, half-expecting Dream to scramble away defensively or demand that he wrap his own injuries. 

Which is why he tamps down a jerk of surprise when Dream lets his wrist slide into Techno’s palm. The pinkette’s fingers automatically curl around the painfully thin arm — his fingers can probably wrap once and a half times around it easily — and begins to wrap whatever bruises and cuts he can find. Techno ignores the beams of electricity that rush through his body whenever Dream shifts his arm, pressing against Techno's touch even further. 

“My friends,” Dream confirms, and his voice betrays nothing. If anything, it seems almost amused. 

Techno’s movements are a bit harsher, a bit jerkier after that. “Why?” 

Dream shrugs. “Who’re you asking?” 

Techno lets a small smile curl his lips. “You.” 

The blonde shrugs again, careful not to disturb Techno’s wrapping. “Why not?” 

“You’re such a hypocrite,” Techno mumbles. Dream cracks up beside him, wheezing laughter making its way up his throat. It wasn’t even that funny, Techno thinks — but it isn’t bad, seeing Dream laugh for once. 

A moment of blank silence passes between them, like a thin sheet of plastic that will shatter apart messily if Techno attempts to prod at it.

He still speaks up. "Aren't you tired?" 

Techno's voice is quiet, inviting Dream to answer the way he always does — nonchalant, easy and cool. Dream hesitates, though, lips mouthing unspoken words clinging to his tongue, and Techno lifts his head to stare at Dream. He waits for the inevitable answer, and it comes. 

"Why would I be?" 

The disappointed feeling in Techno's chest appears again. He isn't sure what prompted it, so he ignores and moves on. The bandages are tucked neatly together, tied in a way where it won't let Dream fall and shatter apart. 

Techno sees, and he almost knows. Could've known. Not fully, not yet. 

Their relationship progresses — or maybe regresses, who knows — and Techno finds himself drifting to the back of the school each day after his classes, hoping to find Dream standing there, leaning against the chipping brick wall and picking at his nails. 

Sometimes he's there, sometime's he's not. When he's not there, Techno can glimpse him hanging around with the very people who had beaten him up a few weeks ago, lean body stiff and relaxed and tense. Dream glides around his so-called friends, while the others shuffle around clumsily like goblins. 

On those days, Techno looks away and heads home. He always feels frozen jade eyes lingering on his back as he walks away. 

"Dream." 

"Techno." 

It's beautiful, how his name falls from Dream's lips even though the reply is too quick, doesn't have time to boil and fester and swell. Techno traces the outline of Dream's sharp cheekbone, ready to cut and slice. 

"Dream," he murmurs again, and watches as the blonde's breath hitches. 

"...Techno," Dream whispers. His body shifts against Techno's, legs hooking themselves over the pinkette's hips and tugging him closer. Techno aches to pull him completely flush against his chest, to press his lips fully against Dream's ruined ones and throw a blanket of warmth over the worn blonde. 

"You sure you want this?" Techno asks, pressing the words against the soft skin of Dream's neck. 

Dream doesn't reply, and instead grabs Techno's collar, yanking him up so their lips are slotted against each others’. Techno automatically reaches behind Dream’s ear, curling his fingers around the sharp junction of his jaw. 

Techno takes the kiss as a yes, and the two fall together, scathing moans drawn from their lips and gentle, serrated kisses pressed into pale flesh. It burns, Techno thinks hazily, as he buries his face on Dream’s shoulder and listens to the blonde’s whimpers from above him. 

Techno has seen everything, and yet he still does not know. 

How much longer? Dream wonders. 

Not much, apparently. 

The day Techno finally realizes, finally knows, is when Dream shows up at his window dressed in a single dark green hoodie and dark skinny jeans, shuddering and gasping and clawing at the windowsill, pushing himself onto trembling toes. 

Techno’s body reacts before his mind does, fingers wrapping around Dream’s bony wrist and yanking him upwards and through the window. 

Since when has Dream been so light? 

Dream manages to coordinate his legs to push him through the windowsill, nearly collapsing onto the wooden floor if not for the firm arms ready to catch him. Techno’s brows furrow as he takes in the blonde’s trembling figure, fingertips running themselves over Dream’s malnourished body and searching for any other injuries. 

Well, searching as far as Techno can see in the washed-out, ashy moonlight. 

“Dream?” he mumbles softly, gently, as if treating a fragile baby deer. That was a mistake. 

Dream hisses and shoves Techno away by the shoulder — shoves, as in attempts to push Techno and simultaneously scrambles back frantically. His breaths are erratic from what Techno hears, and his chest rises and falls shallowly and quickly. “I’m not- don’t pity me, I’m not weak, don’t pity me, don’t fall like- like I did, don’t fall and don’t pity me, I’m not- I won’t-” 

He's gone through too much. His body has been bruised and beaten down too much, his weary jade eyes seen too much, stubborn mind thought too many things. Techno can see it in the frantic flickering of his eyes, the way his body hunches in on itself and how his mind visibly attempts to run whilst surrounded by sheer panic. 

Techno lets his hand creep forward, long fingers splayed out in a way that Dream can see. He shifts closer, wrapping his hand around Dream’s shoulder. “Come on, Dream.” 

Slowly, ever so slowly, bits and pieces of the tension Dream always holds leaks out until the blonde is but a limp, stringless doll — a puppet — in Techno's arms. He slumps forward, and Techno guides his head so that his forehead pressed against his shoulder, fingers curling into Techno's shirt. The pinkette knows better than to ask questions, so he just sits there with Dream in his lap, fingertips pressing into the back of his neck comfortingly and strands of flaxen hair brushing his nose. 

Dream is loud. He's so very loud in the way tiny sobs shake his form, really very deafeningly loud in the way he presses his mouth against Techno’s shirt to avoid making pained, broken noises and the way his fingers tremble as he weaves them into the fabric of Techno’s fancy shirt, clinging on as if his life depended on it. 

It probably did, Techno thinks absentmindedly. He rubs Dream’s nape and presses the side of his nose into the blonde’s neck as if reassuring he’s still there. 

After a while, Dream pulls back, shattered edges of his lips quivering and yet set into a shaky line. His head is lowered — in shame, in embarrassment, in frustration — and he pushes himself away, off of Techno’s lap and brushes away the imperfect crinkles in his hoodie, avoiding Techno’s garnet gaze the entire time. 

Dream readies himself to slide out the window. Techno watches and stays silent. 

Dream glides over to the window, nudges it open with a few swift pushes. Techno watches and stays silent. 

Dream swings one leg over the sill, teetering there precariously for a single second, the bruises on his scarred face and the tired slope of his thin mouth and the exhausted pull of his jaded eyes all illuminated in the wan moonlight. Techno watches and opens his mouth. 

“Aren’t you tired, Dream?” 

The blonde doesn’t react for the first few seconds, but then he slides his leg back into the room and staggers over to Techno, knees buckling halfway across the distance between them. Dream crumples like a leaf. 

It’s okay, though. Techno is there to catch him, to pull him gently to the ground and press his mouth to Dream’s forehead, to wrap him softly in ribbons of warmth and promises, whispers to always stay, never leave. 

Out of all the times Techno has asked the question, he has never expected a true answer. He’s always assumed that Dream’s reply will be barbed and honey-sweet, probing and smooth, covered in walls upon layers upon walls of hidden truths and thinly veiled lies. 

But this time, Techno gets a real answer. He can taste the truth on his tongue, can feel it hanging in the air by a fragile thread. Techno can see it in the way Dream reaches forward, swipes a gentle finger across Techno’s cheek, and slides his hand over his eyes so that the only thing the pinkette will see is imposing darkness. 

“Why would I be?” Dream murmurs, and his voice quivers gently as the inky darkness eases over.

Techno cannot see, but he knows. 

**Author's Note:**

> so... yeah. that was a wild ride. 
> 
> this is literally so fuckin random but like- it’s food, lmao, here you go, take it. 2.5k words of tired fuckboy dream and worried technoblade?? hell yes yes yes gimme it
> 
> but speaking of food- the dnb tag has been like eXPLODING lately and i don’t know why?? is the ship becoming suddenly popular or sumn?? lmao what’s going on- 
> 
> also sigh i really hope this doesn’t get buried :[ it’s my first fic in a while lmaoo 
> 
> (also a minor detail: i used "jaded eyes" to describe dream's eyes during the ending once, and can i just say- im literally so fuckin proud of that holy shit- i love the use of "jade green/jades" to describe dream's eye color, and the word "jaded" also means like- "fatigued by overwork," "worn-out," and in my personal definition, a little pessimistic? stained?? tinted or tinged?? yeah, something among those lines lmao hgngksldj  
> in conclusion yes i love that little minor bit even though nobody probably noticed it hgngksdfj)
> 
> anyways, stay safe and take care of yourselves, loves <33 mwahhh i love you all very very much, never forget that :DD  
> (and if you have the time, perhaps leave a comment or two?? i would love to see how you guys analyze dream's character in this eeheheheee i based him loosely off of noah's character in trap city, although i feel like i didn't do him any justice lmao)


End file.
